A Trinity of Magic
by Flamespark Chimchar
Summary: What Mage can't read tomes? One who could use all three branches of magic, but was dependent on others. By feeding off of magic that poured out of a creature's soul and combining it with a tome, only then the spells would become crystal clear to this Mage, searching in Sacae for someone with an Anima-affinity. For it was the magic of truth, and the people of Sacae never lie...
1. Mask

Drops of dew clung onto the blades of grass that carpeted the famous plains of Sacae. Shafts of pale morning sunlight struck them, and the land seemed to glitter like the minuscule gemstones imbedded in magic tome covers.

A girl donned in a light olive green dress and a pale cyan cloak was perched upon a branch of a tree among a small cluster of others. She fingered her three magic tomes, one from each school of magic, brushing away her medium length midnight-blue hair as it fell into her vision, and decided on a simple Lightning tome to study.

She opened the book, the cover flipping over with a sticky sound. She stared at the first page, dark brown eyes wide.

She had been careful not to get her hopes up, so this time the disappointment she felt was subdued. The letters of the ancient words were murky, as if she was trying to read it while submerged underwater, and impossible to decipher. This seemed to happen every time she was alone, but whenever she had company, human and animal alike, she could suddenly comprehend the spells, the words flashing in sharp focus...

Sighing, she put away the Lightning tome and switched to Fire. She yielded the same results with the Anima tome, and even squinted as she fingered page by page through the Flux tome, to no avail. Despite supposedly suppressing her disappointment, waves of it crashed through her mind like the tides of the Southern Sea. But when she really asked herself, was she really expecting anything new to occur today? Day after day of glancing through her tomes only to see blurred lines staring back at her ought to have taught her something already, and there was no point in wasting any more time. She slowly and methodically placed her tomes back in her almost-empty pack, thinking about where to head for the day. Her age-old map and the stale information from a Lycian village six months ago told her that the Lorca Tribe would most likely be passing by the area in the easternmost of Sacae-

Her hand was still clutched around the spine of the Lightning tome when it happened. Her mind flared from an onslaught of Light. Excited and knowing what this meant, Serena threw open her tome, and awaiting her on each page were the spells, suddenly crystal clear. She then chanced a glance down.

As she suspected, a lone deer stopped its trek to munch peacefully on the grass. For reasons unknown, Serena had noticed that in the Sacaen ecosystem, deer tended to emit a Light aura. Serena could feel it, feel Light pulsing from its soul with every beat of its tender heart, and waiting no more, let loose a Lightning spell. The deer fell silently and immediately; Serena hoped it was a quick and painless death. As soon as the deer and its soul were gone, so was Serena, and as she returned to her neutral state, the words of the Lightning spell were once again as gray and hazy as morning fog.

She put away her tome and dropped down to her kill, her thin, worn sandals doing little to stem the impact of landing. The deer's head and neck was severely mutilated, but its body was untouched. Sick as it was, she smiled slightly to herself. Her aim was improving, although it could have something to do with Light magic's uncanny accuracy. With her dagger, she set about to stripping the deer's hide- she could just imagine how much the Sacaens would like it, she couldn't wait to present it to them and get a look at their Anima-infused souls. Then she could begin to train up her Anima magic (she wondered when the last time she had opened her Fire time for use was) and then when she was done with that-

_Don't count your chickens before they hatch_, she reminded herself. But it was difficult to stave away the feelings bubbling inside her, excitement and happiness about being a part of Sacaen culture, exploring the land, meeting new friends (or at least just having company after all these lonely months), and of course, training her Anima with the people of the purest Anima-souls on Elibe- after all, Anima was the magic of truth, and the people of Sacae never lie.

_But this might not necessarily happen_, thought the truthful, and in this case, negative side of her mind. As her blade meticulously picked away at the deer pelt, her mind contemplated her future. If they wouldn't take her in or she couldn't find them, then she would... she would... she didn't know. If worst came to worst, she could follow the streams and her map and return to civilization, she supposed, but the very idea was most appalling and unappealing.

The shadows were considerably shorter and darker by the time she finished extracting the hide and the hooves (did Sacaens use deer hooves?) and there was still the matter of its meat. It was raw and unfit for digestion, and times like these made her wish she was a regular Mage and could conjure up magical, non-smoking Fire at will to cook it. But she wasn't a regular Mage and for now she would have to make do with washing it in a brook while waiting for a creature with an Anima-affinity to trot up.

Like a vicious hornet, coming back again and again, no matter how much she pushed the thought to the back of her head the same thought would return to haunt her mind: Maybe you aren't like most mages because you don't have a soul...

And she cut off that thought before it could continue to evolve.

She cut some slabs of meat with her dagger. It would sustain her for some time, and for that she was grateful. Clutching the warm, slippery, bloody slabs of meat in her hands and wandering around was not her ideal way of preparing a meal. If anything, she felt as though she was baiting vicious carnivores to attack her.

No sooner than the thought crossed her mind did a gray wolf step into view, a good distance away but still too close for her likings. It nearly scared the wits off her until she noticed its size. It was much too small to be a wolf and it was not in a pack. So it was a fox. Did foxes even eat meat? She wasn't certain, but the gray fox bounding toward her confirmed her thoughts. As it approached, her mind sensed the fox's Anima-affinity and snapped into wakefulness. Amita was ready.

Tossing the bonier chunk of meat toward the animal, she whipped out her Fire tome. One hand still grasping venison, Amita clumsily flipped to a page with the other and cast it at the fox. Managing to just catch the meat aflame, she also chucked in the slab in her hand and when the fire dissipated, there lay some blackened lumps of food- one of which was already half-bitten- and a very charred fox. She congratulated herself for executing such a rushed but successful plan.

Amita left her mind again, and the Fire tome was once again useless. Putting it away and carelessly wiping her grimy fingers on her light blue cloak, she sank her teeth into what was left of the bait, sprinkled some precious salt on the whole cutting of venison, and left the dead fox where it was.

That was a strangely-behaving fox; even with her limited knowledge of wild animals, she was not sure they usually behaved like that. Still, she decided not to dwell on it. She had only walked about twenty paces when her conscience commanded her legs to scurry back to the fox and bury it under some leaves.

_That is so something Serena would do_, she thought as the last leaf fell in place. Amita, her Anima self, might not have cared as much, but Serena, her Light self, did. She laughed inwardly. Most people, she guessed, did not divide themselves into different people and name them, why was she so odd?

_Well, no, they're not different, it's not like I transform into different people or anything. They're still me, just emphasizing on different aspects of me, she argued with herself. And when I can't access them, I just return to boring defenseless me._

_You know that's not what I mean_, she thought back. _Maybe I like to do this because I don't have a soul_-

Once again, the thought was left unfinished.

A glittering something caught her eye. It was sunlight kissing water in a sparkling embrace. The water from a small creek gurgled happily into a pond. Before she had even realized it a smile already played across her face. She had been searching for a place where she could bathe and scrub her clothes and wash her midnight blue hair (her scalp itched at the thought of letting her mud-caked hair go another second without being washed).

A ring of trees served as a natural curtain. Privacy was an added luxury, and without another thought she dumped off her pack, disrobed, and stepped into the water.

It was cold, but not nearly as cold as she was expecting, and she stayed in the water long enough to cleanse her skin and hair until not a speck of dirt remained. While she would have loved to take a swim, the size of the pond- or lack of size- rendered it nearly impossible, unless she transformed into one of the many sleek silver fish that would glide in the water, stop, then dart away in a different direction. They were too small to eat so she didn't bother catching any.

Dripping water with every step, she waded out of the pond. Unsure of what exactly to do next (she scolded herself for not thinking ahead), she resorted to standing in a patch of sun in order to dry off, turning red-faced even though no one was in the vicinity, and thanked her lucky stars it wasn't too windy. She dried quicker than she'd expected, so she put her shift and dress back on and stooped by the water to rinse her cloak. After hanging it on a low tree branch she headed to the trickle of water to replenish her water supply and clean her dagger. When that was done, she simply sat, waiting for her cloak and her hair to dry.

Watching that dry was about as fun as watching ink dry, so blowing her damp hair out of her face (looking almost black), she circled the pond and with a last glance at her cloak (it was safe), stepped out of the safety of the trees and gazed into the plains.

There was nothing but undisturbed plains for miles and miles. The vast ocean of luscious green grass spread to the horizon, the rolling hills reminiscent of soft flowing waves, blades of grass constantly turning over with each breeze. The scent of the green radiated from every leaf in sight.

It was a breathtaking view. So it was with a reluctant heart that she turned back to check on her cloak. It was still soaked and chill to the touch, and she gave up, deciding that running around with it on in the sun would dry it faster.

Clasping it together at the front, she picked up her sack of tomes and headed out, this time to a different area. As the trees parted and she entered a clearing, she stopped dead in her tracks.

Not fifty paces away was a white cloth tent. A ger, she remembered they were called. This one was larger than the other two scattered beside it, and was round with a red curtain. She knew, from what little studying she could conduct, that it must be the chief's tent.

Fear and exhilaration caught in her throat, all at once. Her fantasies and daydreams that she had called plans to meet the Sacaens crumbled to nothing at the sight of the tents. This was real. She only had one chance to introduce herself and ask to acculturate with them. She would have to also explain that she wanted to practice Anima magic, and what if that frightened them? What if her offering offended them? Did Sacaens even use deer hides? What if... What if she wasn't accepted?

_Stop panicking_, the calmer part of her commanded. _Think this through. If they don't accept you, then... Hmmm... You could return to Etruria or Bern... Or try to find another Sacaen tribe... But be careful when you do. One wrong move could give them cause to attack. You realize doing this could risk your life. Maybe you should end your quest and escape now with your life intact._

_No!_ Another part of her mind screamed. _I came all this way to train, not to run! I came, knowing the consequences of failure... I think. Besides, I don't want to live through life with any regrets. I want to be able to say, 'As I look back on my life, I regret nothing. I did everything I wanted to do.'_

_Yes, I'm certain this will be very comforting when you die by the hand of strangers. At that, she quit arguing with herself._

A man strode out of the tent. He was unkempt and unruly, swinging his enormous axe so hard she could hear the menacing _whoosh_ where she hid, back in the copse. She hadn't even noticed her feet carried her back to the trees.

_I guess that's him. The chief. It's now or never._ She willed her feet to move. _And I choose... Never._ She sprang back in her hiding place.

_Coward_, one half of her brain scoffed while the other snapped, _Quiet! Something's not right._

She stilled herself, concentrating hard, resorting to observing his aura. The chief was... yes, had an Anima-affinity... But... It was average. Not extraordinary. Not better than the Etrurians she'd encountered.

She sank to the ground, feeling her heart plummet. She had come all this way... and the Sacaens weren't even that special?

_No_, she said. _I choose not to believe this._

_You wish to delude yourself?_

_I, well, yes, I suppose. I'd rather call it, 'just making sure'._

_You mean, 'not being able to accept the facts'._

_Well, based on my_ facts, _Sacaens have horses. He has none, and I see none. Also, Sacaens wield swords or bows. They're much easier to forge or make than axes and much more practical in this environment. So, I conclude that-_

Before she could conclude anything, the chief roared and scampered away. Two others, wielding axes and looking as though they hadn't bathed in weeks, hurried out of the smaller tents to follow him.

Curious as to where they were heading, she left the trees once again, a finger on each tome, the marshy ground silencing her footsteps.

A burst of Anima prodded her mind, but she didn't revert to Amita. Rather, another one was vying for space in her head. They fought for dominance in her mind, and she thought her head was going to crack open, it hurt so much, she pawed in her sack for-

Ah, got it. Popping off the top she took a swig of Pure Water, and the voices in her mind dulled down. That other feeling in her head, that other person... She had not heard it in so long she'd almost forgotten a third one existed, Miana. It was that nearly nobody she'd ever met had a Dark-affinity, so she rarely had even a chance to train her dark magic.

So who was out there with a Dark-affinity? She glanced out at the field, and the scene was surprised her so much that she simply stared for a moment.

The chief and his two tribesmen were fighting a figure in blue and green. It moved so fast she couldn't identify the blue blur at first, but as something flashed in the sunlight and a tribesman fell, she realized it was a sword-wielding woman with long pine-green hair tied back.

This woman was Sacaen. Anima flowed out of her like nothing she'd ever felt before, a thousand foxes nor a hundred of those axe-wielding men possessed the amount of Anima she had in her soul. In her mind, Amita simply relished on the abundant Anima. But who was the woman guarding?

He was no Sacaen. He was unarmed but standing close to her. His emerald cloak and chestnut hair shone in the sun, and he seemed to be doing nothing. She wanted to scream to the woman "Leave him!" until she saw her nodding at the man every once in a while before commencing some sort of attack. He was advising her...

His soul was the source of the Dark feeling emanating across the field. The two people in her head were roused again, wishing to best the other and take command of her mind.

Yes, she could have chosen Anima. It would have been an good choice. But she chose to give up the good choice for something excellent: Dark magic training. She could train with Anima any time, but when was the next time she would meet someone with the Dark-affinity?

The Anima and Light tomes slipped from her hand. Miana stepped into view and with apprehension, raised her hands.

She'd almost forgotten the drawbacks of Dark magic: power in exchange for your soul. _See, you do have a soul... Right?_ a tiny bit of her thought, but the bulk of her mind was focused on warding off the energies and spirits that threatened to swallow her soul at the first sign of weakness.

The words in the book seemed to shimmer as she shakily cast the spell, pulling some of the Dark waves of magic that undulated from the man. The innate, instinctual yearning to fall in the hands of the darkness was great, so great. She could hardly concentrate for the dark spirits, hissing and biting at her mind like bloodthirsty serpents. Miana stumbled and shut her eyes; it was as though someone had snuck up from behind and wrapped their arms around her, trying to drag her down. But she held her ground, refused to be pulled into everlasting darkness, if only barely, and found her will to resist. The darkness receded like an ocean wave.

A curious sensation followed. The spirits that she thought has left her mind manifested into something like cold thick sap. Still trapped within her, it seeped down, seeming to exit through the soles of her sandals and into the ground. A moment later, it surged above ground. It was the solid embodiment of shadow, and its tentacles grasped onto any living thing in reach.

Piercing shrieks rang. Miana's eyes snapped open, and she watched in horror. Shafts of shadow were clinging to the woman, and she was desperately struggling against it. An enemy saw this opportunity to raise his axe, grinning exuberantly, and as it fell-

The green-clad man, with strenuous effort, pulled the woman to safety, and the darkness turned to the enemy and with a horrified scream he was yanked underground, out of sight.

All eyes turned to Miana with visages of fear and suspicion. Miana was still shaking off the feeling of fear of her own actions. How could she forget that Dark magic was the least accurate of the three disciplines?

The last remaining foe turned away from her two allies in favor of her. "You can't stand up against me. I am Batta the Beast!" he bellowed. He charged.

She was petrified with fear, staring wide-eyed at the crude axe. As he approached closer it occurred to her to _MOVE!_

Gasping she jumped to the left; the axe sliced downward without meeting flesh. No time for relief, the axe was curling toward her.

Miana screamed as she dove away. She landed- _thud!_- on the dusty ground on all fours. Then, realizing she was still alive, she scrambled to her feet and ran.

_Don't run away! Just run enough to give yourself distance._ Air rushed into her mouth, but not the kind that supplied her with a breath, it was the panicky, frigid kind of wind that filled her lungs as she tore away from the Beast, who gave chase. Her wet cloak flapped loudly in the wind, its heavier-than-usual weight slowing her down tremendously.

_This is going nowhere. Just attack!_ Miana whirled around to see Batta some paces away, axe clutched high in the air.

Miana looked down. The letters seemed to tremble and blur- oh, it was just her hands shaking- and she was whispering the spell, raising her hand-

The spell was cut off mid-chant; _better the spell than my head_, she thought as she looked up and ducked just in time, instinctively shielding her face with her arm. The swish of the axe was such that she could feel it blowing her hair out her face. She'd never engaged in combat so close to the opponent before.

_Now!_ She yelled the spell, standing back up and directing it right at Batta, point blank.

The feeling of the shadows within sank into the ground again from her feet, like roots, and this time, with her hand pointed straight at the brigand- she was close enough that she could grab his axe- the roots unerringly sought out the enemy.

But he was stronger than his henchmen. Fighting the vines of darkness, he pulled and thrashed and tried to hack the living shadows. Miana cried out with the effort of keeping the darkness wrapped around him; it was as if he was wrestling her to the ground; any second now, the grip of darkness would loosen and if it turned to her allies or herself, the aftermath were unthinkable.

As she had thought, the darkness ceased its clash with the brigand. She prepared herself for the inevitable-

"Drop your weapon. Now."

Huh?

Miana opened her eyes- she had not realized she'd closed them- and was face to face not with Batta, but with the Dark-affinity man. Just behind him, she saw blood streaming on the ground in little rivulets, and her eyes followed them to the source: The bandit, stabbed clean through, though also bearing ugly markings from where the darkness seared his skin. The woman drew her sword out with the strangest expression of her face- regret, but also anger?- and hurried to join him.

Oh. So the darkness was gone because he was too. But she could not express her relief when another threat loomed over her, literally.

Only now did his words register in his mind, and the tome tumbled to the ground, landing splayed out like a fan. It was more of a refreshment than it brought fear; the Dark pouring out of his soul was too much for her to handle while she was carrying her own source of Dark magic: the Flux tome. Even so, Miana's head did bow from being in such close proximity to the Dark aura.

"I-I-I'm sorry about almost hurting you," she blurted to the woman once she caught up, "I didn't mean to. I'm not very good with Dark magic; I've never really trained with it before." Her apology rose in the air and hung there like a heavy curtain. The woman seemed troubled at "Dark magic", perhaps she'd never heard of it before. Meanwhile she was emanating Anima from her soul, and Miana began to fidget a bit.

The man looked unimpressed. But the woman said only, "I believe you. What's you name?"

Now Miana froze. Was she to say "Miana" or the name of her neutral form? "Well, it depends," she answered in a calm voice that belied her panic, worried that she gave away too much information.

"On what?" The man retorted. Miana decided she did not like him very much.

"People like you," she said simply.

He said nothing in return, opting to stand back. The woman said, "If you don't want to tell us your name, fine. But why were you fighting?"

"Didn't I tell you already? I never quite trained with Dark magic before." She spoke only to the woman, feeling more composed and calm. The fright of the fight was ebbing away. "Therefore, I want to train it up."

"You would use human beings as your target?" She replied, suspicion leaking on her face.

Now Miana deadpanned. "Well, obviously not all human beings, or I'd be fighting you, yes? It appeared as though _you_ were targeting human beings though and needed help, and I wanted training, so I came. Due to my lack of skill with this magic, I almost- unintentionally- harmed you, but in the end we were all safe and we worked together in the end to being down the Beast."

Not a word was said in reply. Miana was unnerved by the calm way the man scrutinized her. Was he a calculating sort of person? After all, it was easier to know the minds of enemies by listening to them, understanding them. She tried to give away nothing, feeling as though she was not doing a spectacular job, and began inspecting him. The woman seemed oblivious to their silent observing.

"My goal is like yours, traveler," the woman said finally, splitting the tense atmosphere as though she had sliced the air with her sword. Both looked at her now. "I myself wanted to train and grow stronger, so that one day-" and she clamped her mouth shut here.

"My name is Miana." She ignored the unfinished statement, though in her mind she pondered what it meant and could entail. "And how do you intend to train?"

"Mark traveled here as well." She gestured to the man. "And I was hoping to travel with him elsewhere." Her voice trailed off, as though she wasn't certain such a thing would happen, but was hoping it would anyway.

"Leave behind your tribe?" Miana's voice raised in pitch. "But why?"

Mark and the woman exchanged looks. Finally, she said, "I haven't given you my name, have I? It's Lyn, of the Lorca tribe."

Miana gasped and broke into a grin. "Lorca! I've been looking for them! Where are they? Can you show me?"

Mark and Lyn exchanged glances again, only this time, rather dark looks. Miana's excitement simmered down a notch and she ceased bouncing up and down on the balls of her feet. Tension pervaded the air as though a chill wind had settled in.

Mark spoke up this time. "I supposed I'll begin the tale. Lyn can supply us with... the rest, if she's up to the task. First, before I begin, I'd like to ask you something.

"Why were you fighting the bandits? Why them and not us? Or why not them and us?"

Miana was taken aback by this question for an instant, then was inwardly panicking as she struggled to find an answer that wouldn't give her away. "Oh. I, uh, um, I just... knew," she answered feebly, eyes on the ground. For reasons unknown, she just could not look into Mark's piercing green eyes.

"Really? You just... knew." Mark's expression was unpleasant, the beginnings of a cruel smirk twitching on his lips. "As if that isn't suspicious at all. Tell me then, who were they?"

"Well, originally, I had thought they might be the chief of the Lorca tribe, because I had gotten wind of them and a village just outside Sacae told me that they would be passing by this area-" she gestured to the surrounding plains, "but then as we fought I noticed that they didn't seem to be Sacaen, and I had no u-use for them." She stumbled over the last words, cursing herself for not thinking before speaking. Now Mark was most likely even more suspicious of her. Her hopes of traveling with him were beginning to fade away like smoke in the air.

"No use for them? That was worded... Interestingly. So then, you have _use_ for _us_?" He mused to himself. Now her chances of traveling with him was diminishing even more. Miana decided she did not like him much as an enemy.

"Get to the point. Why did you ask me all this?"

"Because... Those people, as you concluded, were not Sacaens. They were filthy outlaws who would do any dirty work to survive. Lyn has a particular grudge against bandits. The Lorca that you were looking for... When did you come by information about them?"

"Around mid-spring. I've lost track of dates."

"That explains it." He looked back at Lyn, who was glaring at the grass with such intensity it was as though she was trying to burn a hole through the ground. "This story is yours now."

Lyn paused, unable to look up from the ground. Mark stepped back, silently. Miana fidgeted some more (she was itching to reach into her pack for some Pure Water).

"I've already told Mark this, as you've probably guess by now. But yes, I have to strength to tell my story again." She waved off a concerned expression on Mark's face.

"The Lorca tribe... was shattered. They are," she choked a bit, "no more. Six months ago, bandits attacked us... And so many of my people died that night.

My father was the chieftain, and as their daughter I had a special privilege. I was the only woman in the tribe who was allowed to learn the ways of the sword. This was temporary, because-" and Lyn stopped speaking.

"What was temporary?" Miana asked in a tiny voice. Lyn refused to say a word.

"Can't you tell she's not ready to tell us?" Mark snapped. So Mark doesn't know either, Miana thought.

"...Thank you Mark. I'm sorry." Lyn buried her face in her hands. "Another time.

"As I was saying, I tried to help fight them off. But I was unskilled, weak. No one wanted to follow the ideas of a woman, and the men of the tribe tried to defeat them while we stayed back. They were... brave... displayed true bravery to the very end...

"Soon, I was the only left. Not even the women or helpless children were spared! And I've been alone for so long..."

Miana sympathized. Traveling by herself through the plains of Sacae took a toll on her emotional well being, only having her other selves for company. Only she'd had a goal. Lyn had none. She must have been more than devastated...

"Today has taught me something. I need to grow stronger by going out into the world. And I can't be on my own anymore. I need people," Lyn declared. "And then I can avenge my father- no, my tribe's meaningless deaths."

"Yes." Mark smiled. "I'll be your strategist, and you can be the peerless warrior."

"And I'll be your mage, to cover your back... If you'll have me," Miana added.

"Lyn, I would find it wise to bring Miana with us. Despite her questionable skill with magic and battling in general, if she improves them, having someone to take out threats from a distance would be most beneficial. And as she said, she can cover you back." Mark held out his hands in defeat. "I may know the ways of war, but I don't know the ways of _being_ in one."

"Excellent! Of course we'll take you along." Lyn beamed at Miana. The two shared a grin. Miana realized she hadn't truly smiled since six months ago, and guessed the same went for Lyn.

"That's great! We'll go on adventures and journeys. How exciting!" Miana hopped from foot to foot.

"How old are you? You are such a child," Mark huffed.

"Well, I can't always be boring and sullen, can I?" Miana said, "and I'm almost fifteen."

"Ah, so your childish behavior matches your stature."

"I'll have you know I'm about five feet tall."

By now, the mutterings in her mind was unbearable. Miana reaching in her pack for some Pure Water, chugged some down, nearly choked, and then picked up her Flux. The people in her head dispersed at the first taste of the Pure Water.

"Are you truly a shaman?" Mark asked, eyeing her pastel-colored outfit.

"Sometimes," she answered mysteriously. "I'll explain," she cut in before Mark could say, "What do you mean?" or "How suspicious."

"I'm not a regular magic-user. You saw how I just drank the Pure Water? No, that's too complicated." Miana stopped to think. "I'll start by pointing out those orange and yellow things there, in the distance." With her finger she pointed behind them, at the tomes she'd dropped by the copse.

Lyn could not identify them. "What are they?"

"I'll show you come with me." She started toward her books. The two followed close behind. As they neared, Mark frowned as he squinted.

"Are those...?" He trailed off as his suspicions were confirmed. Miana picked up her Fire and Lightning tomes, still sparkling despite the mud, and placed them inside her satchel.

"You can use all three disciplines?" Mark asked, now his voice higher-pitched with surprise.

"Just hear me out, please. I can use all three," Miana said, and Mark gaped, "_but_ I cannot use them at will. I need to be around someone, preferably not someone who is already a magic user.

"People like you," Miana now faced Lyn, "you fight with your strength and with your weapons of metal. However, everyone contains a wellspring of magic within their soul. So if I borrow magic from magic-users, they can perceive it right away. The type of magic depends on your affinity, or the month you were born in. As you know, Fire month is the first one, then Lightning, then Thunder, then Shine-"

"Then Elfire, Aureola, Ice, Water, Wind, Light, Dark, and the last one is Anima, we know the order of the months," Mark finished listing them impatiently, though with a rhythm to it.

Miana smiled. "Oh, so you know the nursery song too. So most people are born in either a Light spell month or an Anima spell month."

"I myself was born in Thunder," Lyn brought up.

"What about Ice, Water, and Wind?" Mark queried. Lyn said nothing, not knowing much about magic in general from her swords-and-bows background.

"Wind counts as Anima, despite the lack of an existing Wind tome. Ice and Water, unfortunately, are useless to me. Why? Because I need to be around someone with a magical affinity."

"It looks like you can't explain Ice and Water with magic," Lyn piped up.

"Yeah. So, as I was saying, I need to be around someone with a magical affinity to use magic. I draw out magic from their soul to use. And I think I can't do it myself because..."

"You don't have one?" Mark supplied.

"I think so." Miana heaved a heavy sigh. "And even though I was born in Anima, ironically I still need other people in order to create Anima magic... Anyways, I've only met two Dark-affinities in my whole life: my father and you. My father died when I was young, so naturally I've had minimal practice with it."

"But aren't there more of them?" Lyn asked. "Lots of people can be born in Dark."

"One generation ago, there was much persecution for Darks," Mark said in a tight voice. "They were hunted down by Lights and Animas for using 'the cursed magic'. It was a bad time to be a magic-user... Even now, Darks are forbidden to be wed in a church and produce children. There aren't many of them left, and most live in hiding."

"That's why I need you, Mark. To do magic. So sorry to force my company onto you." Miana smirked. "And Lyn, you know the saying 'The people of Sacae never lie'?"

"Yes, of course I do."

"Thought you'd like to know: Anima is the magic of nature, and attacks with the might of truth. Your soul bubbles over with Anima. It's why I came to Sacae in the first place. To see if the saying holds true. And it does with you. Hey, that rhymed," Miana noted.

"And when I think about it, there is a Sacaen superstition that married women should conceive during autumn so that their child can be born in spring or summer. It makes sense now. During spring and summer is when most of the Anima months take place!" Lyn gasped in realization.

"So you can use all three types of magic by taking magic from people-" Mark started.

"Or animals to use it-" Miana added.

"-and you want to travel with us," he summarized.

"Yeah. By the way I dress in lighter colors because most of the time I use Anima or Light," Miana added as an afterthought. "Anyway, what I will say now is very important. Listen closely.

"Both of you have very bright souls, very... loud ones, you could say. I can use Dark magic if I'm around a Dark _and_ if I'm touching a Dark tome. The tomes are my only sources of magic I own. Alternatively, if I'm touching an Anima tome, I could draw magic from Lyn and use Anima. Same with Light, if there was a Light-affinity person around. That's how I use the three schools of magic.

"Also, my personality changes slightly with the type of magic I use. Miana is the name I use for Dark- that's why I said that my name depends on people like you, Mark- Amita for Anima, and Serena for Light. That's all. I'm still the same person though. And since both of you are standing so close to me, Lyn, you're rousing Amita with your Anima-ness. She wants to surface but Mark is the only reason I'm still Miana. I can hear Amita in my head right now..." Both backed away from Miana as though she was carrying a highly contagious disease.

"Don't worry," Miana said, though she made no move toward them, "when it becomes too much that's when I drink Pure Water. It dulls them down. Anything else I forgot to mention?"

"Can you heal? With staves?" Mark asked.

"That has been a mystery for me for years. I can't. Not even a little, and not even if I'm in a hospital full of clerics."

"It's getting darker," Lyn remarked. "Let's return to my ger. A ger is-"

"A type of round hut Sacaens use, correct?" Miana said. "I know from books."

"Okay. Good for you, Miana." Heralded with a chilly wind, they made their way into Lyn's home.

o-o-o

"I want to head to Bulgur first," Lyn said as she passed out bowls of steaming soup, the venison donated by Miana and the herbs by Lyn. "To pick up supplies."

The three were sitting cross-legged around the cooking fire, their faces illuminated by firelight. Overhead the half-moon was looking below, watching them dine. Sitting in the fire was the pot of soup, a wooden ladle inside. Miana wondered how it didn't catch fire.

"We'll need food of course, hardtack and dried meat and such, perhaps a map if we can afford it-" Mark listed.

"I have a map here." Miana pulled hers out and handed it to Mark. He took it, frowning as he looked it over.

"Your map is outdated," he said, "and the cartographer must not have been educated anyways. Etruria is _left_ of the mountains, not _in_ it. Thria is above Ryerde, Khathelet is not spelled with a 'C', and Valor is _not_ a Western Isle!" He laughed aloud as he returned it to its suddenly put-out owner.

"But, I took it from the royal archives of Bern!"

"_Bern_?" Mark sputtered as if she had just said she stole it from under the king's nose, which she might as well have done; it wasn't even that difficult. "Impossible. Security there is top-notch; you'd be hounded by wyvern riders. Your map is all wrong anyway. You probably got it from another place, maybe Araphen."

"Well, how would you know? _You_ don't have a map," Miana shot. "And besides, the place I went to seemed all riled up anyway. Didn't seem to care less that I stuck the map in a tome of mine."

"Then we'll get a map as well." Lyn took it in her hands and looked it over also, but her eyes seemed a bit glazed over. Miana supposed she was still suffering from telling her story, having to relive it.

"So that's food, a map, and anything else?" Miana said. "My weapons are fine, and yours, Lyn?"

"Fine too."

"Okay, then what should we bring with us? Bedrolls, pots, first-aid things, weapons too- Say Mark, how did make it all this way without being adept at some sort of weapon? Did you hire an escort?"

Mark sipped his soup straight from the bowl, then said, "Of course not. Tacticians don't make good money, you know. It was all I could do just to afford my little excursion here. I have a knife." Mark pulled it out and placed it on the table.

"That piddly little thing?" Miana commented. "It's hardly even the size of your hand." The knife was a short, stubby little thing, and double-edged with a point on top. Its handle was also nondescript, oak wood by the looks of it, except for the polished green pebble in the center.

"I didn't say I was going to use it," Mark said. ("Reckless," Miana muttered.) "I could sell it though. That stone in the middle is a Nabatan jadeite."

"Is it a family treasure?" Lyn set down her soup into her lap.

"Yes, but-"

"Why would you sell it? It's a part of your family history! Keep it," Lyn urged, and Miana agreed.

"Alright." Mark put it back in a pocket of his robes.

The night was quiet but for the stray howl of a wolf and the crackling fire. Now that autumn was dawning upon Elibe, the crickets were back underground and the gnats blown elsewhere. Miana shivered as a hard wind greeted them; she yearned to huddle closer to the fire but did not wish to catch on fire. They finished their soup in silence, each wrapped around their own thoughts, and put out the fire.

"We'll sleep in the ger. It's safer," Lyn said. The others agreed.

Lyn slipped into her bedroll. Mark lay down on his own on the opposite side of the ger. Miana was not resting though. She was up and about, poking around the hut.

"Are you looking for something?" Lyn asked.

"That's right. I was wondering if you could show me your ceremonial masks?"

Lyn stared at her.

"Ceremonial masks?" Lyn repeated slowly, as if wondering if she'd heard wrong.

"Yeah," Miana said in the same slow pace Lyn used. "The ones you wear for your lunar festivals?"

Lyn blinked. "Lunar festivals?" She repeated, nonplussed.

Miana nodded.

Both looked at each other, confused, waiting for an explanation.

Then Miana chuckled, breaking the silence. "Looks like the books were wrong then."

"What do you mean?"

"When I was doing research on Sacae last winter, there were few books to be found. Much of the information was biased and unreliable, as they were written by non-Sacaens. But there a few things I thought would be correct, one of which was this one passage about your lunar festivals."

"What did it say?" Mark now sat up, listening.

"'The sava-' wait, let me paraphrase it. 'The people of Sacae hold lunar celebrations at the turn of the full moon. They pray to Father Sky for bountiful game by chanting and dancing around a tall bonfire. They wear intricately carved masks depicting the creation of Elibe and the plains,'" Miana recited. "So does that sound about right?"

"Any text that has the word 'savages' in it should be automatically disqualified," Mark pointed out, smirking. "Of course it's not right."

"Shut up," Miana said, but teasingly, as she realized the truth of his words. In hindsight, it seemed extremely obvious. Mark's smirk only widened.

Lyn blinked again. "Well, this doesn't apply to the Lorca tribe. We never do that."

"Oh." Miana sighed.

"But do the books say anything about the Lorca?" Lyn inquired.

"No. Not much. They just say that you tend to settle around regions of Southeast Sacae." Miana's face brightened. "Why don't you write about it?"

"I can't."

"Why not?"

"I mean, I can't write. Nor read," Lyn explained. And then Miana remembered the indifference Lyn expressed when she picked up her tomes, the way her eyes raked over the map and saw nothing.

"No one's ever taught me how. Only my father, as the chieftain, could read and write, though he rarely did; messengers don't come by often. It was already enough that I could even touch a sword, and I've never really been interested in learning to read and write. Until now.

"It sounds like not many people know the truth about Sacae. No one knows its history, its endless grassy plains and wildlife, life as a nomad. And I'll be the first to do so," Lyn said. Somehow, her quiet resolution seemed bolder than if she'd shouted it.

"We'll teach you letters. Me and Mark," Miana said, poking a glance at him.

"Yes. We'll begin first thing tomorrow."

Thank you for reading all the way to the end! So anyway, for this story (yet another FE7 tactician/adventure story), please disregard everyone's canon affinity (Lyn's is actually Wind.) Updates will be about, maybe every few weeks.


	2. Lavender

The stick scrawled more lines into the dirt, swooping up and curving back down. Up and down and left and right, it dug more lines and marks—and twice, dots—into the smooth ground.

Then it stopped. Lyn looked at the arrangement of symbols displayed neatly in a line, trying not express the fear on her face. There were quite a lot of them! Much more than she'd expected.

The sun was just barely peeking over the horizon, bathing the plains with sunlight and the promise of a new day. After going through the alphabet vocally several times ("Did you know the letter 'W' is the only letter in the entire Elibean alphabet whose name doesn't make its very sound?" Miana supplied), Mark began quizzing her on the letters. He pointed his stick at one.

"A, b, c, d..." Lyn muttered the alphabet to herself, pointing at each letter as she recited along. As her finger approached the stick her voice rose until she finally crowed, "M!"

"Good." The stick rested on a different letter now, farther away. Lyn mouthed the letters to herself as her finger traveled on. At one point, she lost track of what letter she was on and froze. Then with the smallest of sighs she returned back to the beginning to start over.

"No, you were right. It was 'T'", Miana said, "Have confidence, you know the alphabet."

"Oh... Thank you Miana. Now, where was I?" Lyn's finger wavered over the letters like a bee to a flower.

"Remember what I said? The bigger 'T' looks something like a flat mushroom, the smaller one looks like a cross."

"That's right..." Lyn mused. She instantly zoned back on the pair of Ts. Mark's stick was still hovering over a letter, further down the chain of letters.

"'T', 'U,'... 'X'!"

"Good job. I think that's enough for now." Mark set the stick down in the grass. "We'll want to get a good start if we want to make it out of Bulgar before nightfall. Remember, Lyn-" He gave a meaningful look at the alphabet- "Repetition is key to learning anything."

"A, b, c...," Lyn read to herself, drilling the letters into her mind.

Mark's syllabus regarding Lyn's writing lessons seemed to be to teach her to read first, then to write. Miana had nothing against it. After all, how could one write without knowing how to read? They were starting off slow, not wanting too overwhelm Lyn.

"She's making good progress," Mark murmured to Miana, "but she's not very consistent. At times it's as if she knows the letters by heart; other times, she can't remember which one to begin on."

"You can't expect her to learn it perfectly in one sitting," Miana replied. The two were returning to the ger to retrieve their belongings. Lyn already had her personal effects with her.

"What have you got in there?" Mark questioned as they exited, joining Lyn, who was patiently waiting outside.

"Me?" Miana supposed he was taking inventory. She was a part of their group now, she thought with cheer. She opened up her pack and rummaged around. "Let's see, Pure Water—nearly gone, I'll need to purchase some more—regular water, my tomes, a knife, and the map. Oh, I'd forgotten!"

"What?"

Miana clutched the rolled up deer hide and held one end right under her her chin so that Mark could view it as she let go of the rest the hide. It unfurled over her body down to her torso like a drape over a window. "Serena did this."

Mark blinked twice, then said, "Oh, that's right. Your Light self. You—er, _she_ did a fine job."

Lyn took it into her hands, running her thumb along the tawny satin-like fur. "Well done. This looks really good. Oh, this side's looks torn here."

"Really?" Miana glanced at it. "Oh. I—um, she must not have been paying attention. Or gotten frustrated." She remembered how at the time, she'd been thinking about joining the Sacaens. Now her vision was different. She would try to refine her _Dark_ magic rather than her Anima by traveling with Mark.

"So which _do_ we call your other entities? 'You' or 'she'?" Mark asked curiously.

Miana pretended to converse with them in her head. "Serena and Amita say they don't mind. Either is alright, though _I_ prefer 'you'."

"Alright. Did you heard that, Lyn?"

"Yes," Lyn said, still examining the deerskin. "Don't worry about the tear. I'm sure it'll still sell at a generous price," she assured.

"This is very fortunate. I was starting to think no one here had money to spare," remarked Mark.

"Do you mean to say none of you have money?" Miana squawked.

Lyn shook her head. "I've never even seen money before. In the plains, if we encounter another tribe and wish to trade with them, we barter. I know what money looks like though. They're little round metal pieces that you trade with, if you're the one getting something."

"That's sounds about right." Miana had not ever known on what scale to measure the fact that as a Sacaen nomad her whole life, Lyn was rather isolated from the rest of the world. Writing was one thing; most commoners didn't have this skill. But money? Quite another. She almost asked out loud if Lyn knew how to count too, but held her tongue at the last second; the question would come off as rude and she suspected she already knew the answer: yes. "I'll expect you'll see some at the open-air markets, if no one here has even a wooden nickel to spare."

Mark sighed as he pulled out a little bronze piece. "An Ilian penny. I doubt there is a currency exchange at Bulgar, since there isn't an international common currency agreement yet."

Lyn handed the deerskin back to Miana in favor of the coin. It was tiny, hardly bigger than her thumbnail. It made her wonder why Ilians didn't make their coins bigger. Did they lose their money easily?

The coin was a dirty bronze, with curious markings along the edges (Letters? Lyn guessed) and an image of a woman, her long hair blown back to reveal her victorious face held high. Her arms were hoisting a lance in the air, as though about to skewer an enemy, and she rode a horse with enormous plumed wings protruding from both flanks.

"Pegasi," she breathed to herself. She only knew because of timid Florina. She hadn't seen Florina much at all recently, not since... not since the bandit attack that altered her life forever. She wondered how she was faring. Was still still a Pegasus-knight earning her title? Or had she already attained it?

"I thought they just weighed it. That's what the scales are for, aren't they?" Miana said, shocking Lyn out of her thoughts; she realized a slow second later that the shaman was responding to Mark's statement. "And what about generic gold?"

"Bulgar is on the silver system. That means they judge the worth of coins based on the weight of one silver coin. Bronze is lighter than silver, so we'd need much more if we want it to be of any use. And gold is for nobility only. A symbol of wealth and good fortune. Which is amusing, since it's money. They have loads of it, to manage a kingdom or fund an army. Nobles tend to only trade with those of the same class as them, not surprisingly, though it's not against the law in most countries for them to trade with commoners."

"So if commoners ever got hold of gold coins they would want to keep them, right? It's like a treasure for them. Which, like you said, is funny because it's _money_." Miana cracked a grin. "Well, I also have deer hooves we could sell, if it helps any."

"It might, but it would be difficult to sell. They're mainly only used for religious ceremonies, if at all," Lyn stated. Inwardly, she was still laughing about the rather comical "ceremonial masks" matter Miana'd mentioned last night. Then her mind darkened as she recollected the parts about Sacaen "savages" dancing around bonfires, shouting to Father Sky like a pack of wolves.

They were all wrong. Sacae was a country as sophisticated as any other and twice as beautiful. And Lyn would set it straight.

"Does anyone have anything of value? Or did we really plan to go to Bulgar with nothing?" Miana said in disbelief, sharp and abrasive against Lyn's ears. "What do you have, Mark?"

"Not much left." His hands dug into his near-empty pockets. "Just my knife-" he held out a hand gripping it- "and Kazza's whistle."

"Who's Kazza?" Miana asked, looking to Lyn. She shrugged her shoulders, not knowing either.

"A pet of mine, a fox. She's... not traveling with us," Mark finished hesitantly.

Both girls deduced the same conclusion from this hesitation. Miana said plainly, "Did she die?" at the same time Lyn cried, "How could you lose her, Mark?" She looked like she would have continued but for Mark raising his hands, pleading for silence.

"Give me time to explain. Kazza is alive, as far as I know, Miana, and no, Lyn, I have not lost her. It's just that she's always one step ahead of me-"

"Literally?" Miana interjected. Mark ignored her.

"-since she loves exploring so. But when I want her, I blow this whistle." He produced from his pocket a piece of tapered bone—presumably from a large animal—with openings on both ends, a smaller hole on the thinner end.

"I've grown used to her not responding to it sometimes. I blew it last night and early this morning. She must still be asleep."

_So that's what it was._ Earlier, Miana had been rudely awakened by the shrill shriek of what she had thought was a daffy bird.

"I suppose we are in no hurry to leave, are we?" Mark said. "We can spend today collecting things to be sold tomorrow. What do you have in mind, Lyn? Surely you must know what in the plains could sell well."

"Of course." Lyn looked—and sounded—rather pleased. Miana guessed that she had felt somewhat out of her element during their talk of money. "Well, based on what I have heard from my tribesmen, merchants like furs of any sort. Rare herbs will do as well. One of the more sought-after plants is lavender. Some should still be in bloom at this time of year. It's a flower whose color is that of its name, and it looks like a column of petals on a stalk. If you find it, you'll want to cut it at the base of the stem, though beware, it might have thorns. We'll have to keep it looking well if we want them to accept it."

"We can fill up my Pure Water phial with the flowers if we find any," Miana offered. At that moment she chose to empty the last of her medicine into her stomach. Though she felt alleviated of the voices instantaneously, she now needed contact with her Flux tome at all times to be completely rid of Amita, however uncomfortable the Dark energies were.

"What about other flowers?" Mark queried.

Lyn laughed a bit, though not impolitely. "Oh, I'm sorry. I think I had you under the impression to look for the prettier flowers. No, lavender is special because perfume-makers will pay us very well for it. I'm not sure if they will be there tomorrow, but it's worth a try. Lavender has a pleasing scent, supposedly. I personally don't care much for it."

"So furs and plants. Anything else?"

"I don't believe so."

"Shall we split up? Or stay together?" Mark brought up.

"How about this: Mark, you go with Lyn. I'll be on my own," Miana suggested, after a moment's thought.

"Are you sure? Those unaccustomed to the lands can get easily lost," Lyn warned.

"Don't worry, I have an idea. I've never tried to see what the maximum distance is, but at a distance I can sense people's auras, right? Or rather, Miana, Serena, and Amita can. So we'll be walking in parallel line, with you close enough that I can still accomplish magic. You see what I mean?"

"Do you want to test the distance?" Mark said.

"...We might as well." Miana fidgeted a bit and looked behind her, randomly.

"Okay, Lyn and I will move further down the field. You stay where you are."

Miana watched as they took ten paces, then fifteen, then twenty, then stopping at twenty-five. They turned to face Miana.

Easy. With her tome out, she read the spell with next to no effort. The darkness crawled into the ground before emerging, swallowing at the empty air between the three. Sensing no target, the darkness splashed into the ground like water and melted into the ground. The patch of grass where the darkness took residence yellowed immediately and withered. Miana tried her best to ignore that break in the smooth grassy field. But she couldn't help likening it to a bald spot of an elderly man.

The two in the distance did not fail to notice it either; Lyn look disapproving. They glanced at each other and with a nod from Mark, walked on. Thirty paces, thirty-five. They gazed at her, expectant.

Again, tapping into the bountiful store of magic that was Mark, she generated vines of darkness, squirming in the air and crawling on the ground like bewitched feelers before dispersing into nothingness.

They walked farther and farther. They were growing so small she was having trouble counting the paces but for the little figures bobbing up and down. They stopped again. It took her a second to recognize the fact; they were so far away they were smaller than her thumb.

Miana glanced down at her spell. The letters were still clear as ever, but now they were beginning to jump and jitter, as though restless. Miana blinked, staring harder at her book. It was taking all her concentration just to keep the letters in place; they seemed to want to jump out of the page. The Dark spirits were snickering at her plight. She tried to block them out but their sounds like the chatter of dry bone threatened to override her concentration.

With a cry she raised her hand and the darkness answered. This was no frivolous trickle of magic, no; this was an inundation of darkness which flooded deep into the earth, raising every hair on her body.

Hardly having reign over the shadow, it rose and writhed, appearing much like a firestorm save for its pitch-black hue. She heaved rasping breaths as she held her arms out, bent, pushing against an invisible force, as though holding at bay a rushing boulder. She took a tiny step back.

That was enough.

Like water in a sieve, Miana dropped away in her mind into a clouded abyss of thoughts. Her connection with Mark broken, she reverted to her neutral self.

_"About time!"_

_"What's going on?_

_"Missed me?"_

_"What did you do?"_

_"Why is there-"_

_"Is that Dark mag-"_

_"Miana! You-!"_

_"Absolutely foolish!"_

The voices crashed incessantly in her mind like waves beating upon the shore. "Stop... Stop," she moaned pitifully, hands on her temples. Having debarred her other selves away for so long, her efforts now dissolved to nothing as the voices washed through her mind.

_"It was not my fault-"_

_"It was so! Always blaming other people-!"_

_"That was truly a stupid thing to do-"_

_"You know how dangerous it is to use too much magic-"_

_"Magic overuse-!"_

_"Taking too much magic from a living source could harm-"_

_"Or kill them-_

_"MARK!"_

She ran. The first step got her mindset back to Miana's, although only Serena was completely removed from her mind. She ran farther, closing the distance. The letters of the book stilled into sharp define, and Miana called, "Shadow! To me!"

It was an impulse, an action without thought. She'd only meant to call away the shadow so she could check up on Mark and Lyn; already she could see them both sprawled on the ground, a far cry away.

The shadow flowing back to her body, through her feet, was somehow an even worse feeling than when it had left, something she hadn't even considered. It effervesced within her (not unlike fermenting liquor) for a few seconds, making her skull feel distended and yet oddly light-headed; then, as though vomiting, she doubled over low to the ground, and expelled the darkness out through her mouth, where it fogged up before vanishing.

_A curse upon you! Amita, if you weren't there-!_

_What did I say about not blaming other people?_

Miana growled. Before she could answer another voice cried hoarsely, "Miana?"

Amita forgotten, Miana scampered to Lyn, who was just picking herself up. Miana gave her a hand. "Are you alright? Where's Mark?"

Lyn gestured vaguely over to her right. "I'm fine, just a bit bruised up. But I'm not sure where Mark went... We were separated after that magical outburst."

"Completely unprecedented," grunted Miana as the two scrambled over to the direction of Lyn's hand.

The vegetation of the field was just a bit taller in that region, but not enough to conceal Mark in its grassy folds. "Mark!" one of them cried; Miana was unsure if it was Lyn or herself. They were kneeling by his side in an instant.

He was lying on his back, limbs lax. Horrifyingly, his aura was almost gone, only embers where once a fire burned.

"Mark?" The plains-woman grabbed his shoulders in an effort to sit him up; his cloak was slippery and he drooped back on the ground with Lyn clutching fistfuls of the fern-green cloak in her hands.

"Here, let me..." Miana was uncertain what to do; she despised uncertainty but she did not have much background knowledge nor personal experience of magic depletion and would have to experiment. She placed her tome in Mark's open hand, her own hand upon the tome's front cover.

A daunting shivering silence, then a fluttering of eyelids. Both girls leaned closer, not daring to take their eyes off him.

"Rrrmm," came a noise in the back of his throat. Then his eyes snapped open. "W-what?" He sat up.

"Mark!" Lyn immediately released her hands and both of them sat back on their haunches to give him space.

"How are you feeling?" Miana asked, voice still dark with worry and a hint of frustration no one managed to miss.

"Mm... Numb." He pulled the book closer to his chest, as though it was a warm blanket. Miana's hand never left the book, and now they were sitting very close together. But no one brought it to attention.

"Let's go back to the ger. You can rest there and we can collect the things tomorrow." Lyn, being the stronger one, pulled him up. Mark seemed fine on his feet, though the sight of him clutching the tome to his chest like a child with his favorite toy was an endearing sight.

_He's older than you_, Amita snickered. If only Miana had some Pure Water to wash her away with.

"Whatever the book's doing, it seems to be... reenergizing me. I'm feeling better by the second."

It was true. The tome's magic was draining to Mark, his sparks now enkindled.

"Really?" Lyn flashed a suspicious glance at the Flux, then to Miana. Then her gaze softened. "Well, okay. Are you sure you're alright?"

"I think so. We've already lost some time, though I think we can still complete our task if we hurry." He pointed at the overhead sun.

"Are you up for it?" Miana said.

"Yes." His tone was clipped; he was getting impatient. "I'm fine. Now, what's our plan?"

"Let's do this: I go on my own there. I know the land there." Lyn pointed to a thicket nearby. "And you two go together over there." She pointed at a meager forest. "We meet at the ger at sunset. Don't stray far. Stay in the forest and don't wander out of it."

"That hardly qualifies as a forest," Miana muttered. Then she spoke up louder, "But if we need to defend ourselves-" Then she noticed the sword sheathed by Lyn's side, and muttered, "Never mind."

"Sound plan. Let's be going—unless you'd like to have lunch?" Mark brought up.

"I'm not particularly hungry, but if you are, I have no objections to lunching," Miana piped up.

"Neither am I, but if you are-" Lyn seconded.

"Hah, looks like no one wants lunch. Alright, let's go, Miana."

"Don't wander off!" Lyn called after them as she went her own way.

Not five steps into their trip did Mark hiss, "Miana, what was that?"

"Completely unprecedented," she repeated, knowing exactly what he was referring to.

"That's not an answer."

"Fine. It was an accident, okay?" Suddenly she didn't feel much like being near him anymore, but she had no choice; the book was the source of energy for both Mark and Miana.

"Good. Taking responsibility of your own mistakes."

Miana detested the chiding tone of his words. "It was your idea."

"A good one, in theory. But dangerous, of course. And yet you agreed."

She blinked, both out of irritation and because she almost walked into a tree branch. "You agreed too. And it was still your stupid idea-"

"And your suggestion-"

"I was trying to help! And I'm begin-"

"Quiet down, before you scare away the animals."

"-beginning to think _you_ aren't taking responsibility for _your_ actions!" she finished in hushed rage. She looked behind them. No threat lurked behind them.

Mark looked thoughtful, all of a sudden. "Do you think I made a mistake?"

"Yes!"

"Like what?"

"Like—like, you know..." He was infuriating. And so confusing. What was she supposed to say? "Like, letting me—us—experiment on you."

"And how was it a mistake?" His tone was not defiant, but questioning.

"Because everyone almost got hurt. You actually did. Everyone had the potential of getting hurt is what I mean."

"That's not a mistake. A mistake, by definition, is an error caused by poor reasoning or carelessness."

She took this into consideration. "So do you mean that wasn't caused by carelessness? But that's not true. I knew I didn't have mastery of my own resources nor mastery of the spell itself. I could have stopped, but I went ahead anyways. So then, it wasn't an error? Sure it was. I messed up."

"Then perhaps it _was_ a mistake." At this, she frowned. This was getting nowhere, what with Mark contradicting himself. "But what I mean was, do you think it was worth it?"

"Worth it?" She was taken aback. She peered at Mark's face, but in the shadow of the trees, it was hard to pick out anything. Not that it would have mattered; his face was carefully expressionless. "Well, our purpose was to see by trial-and-error the farthest distance I could be from you, the magic source, and use magic. And I suppose I messed that up as well." Her face scrunched up in annoyance and defeat. "I don't know it."

"But I do." He was smiling. "It was about fifty paces. That's quite a formidable distance. Much could be done from fifty paces away."

"So we achieved our goal. But to what end?"

"'To what end?' Miana, you make it sound as though someone died in the process."

"Someone almost did. And mind you, every one of us did get injured to some degree."

"It was a risk, as there always is in trial-and-error situations. And just in life, really. But was the result worth the risk? I'd say so. Since no one _did_ die, and a few bumps and bruises can heal."

"So then I don't have to bear the guilt. Just the responsibility."

"That sounds about right."

Miana broke into a smile. "Thanks, Mark. I do feel better now."

"This wasn't about making you feel better." Her grin dropped at once. "This was about making you see the facts. And you did, didn't you?"

"Oh. Yes, I did."

"Good. That was productive. I know that you shamans love knowledge-seeking."

Two thoughts popped into mind at the same time, the former being: _How do you know that? _and the latter, which she voice aloud: "Why yes. We strive to discover things. It's our purpose in life. There's a myth—very interesting, but long, I can't recall it all—but to summarize it, every shaman, by using Dark magic, invites Dark spirits into their minds, and if you can't control or appease them, then your soul, your _self_ gets... stolen. Eaten. Taken. There was a shaman who had to keep searching for and finding facts everyday. One day, he didn't learn enough, so the Dark Spirits Ignorance and Stupidity swallowed his soul.

"So to us, or at least to me, being stupid or unknowledgeable is the worst thing that can happen to you. Not only do you lack knowledge, but you increase the chances of living soulless. That sort of existence is thought to be worse than death. We _need_ to find out more, about anything. It's almost an instinct."

"Can't stand being in the dark, eh?" Mark muttered.

"Ha ha. Actually, that was rather clever." She smiled, but then her eyes narrowed as she peered ahead. "Mark, do you think...?"

"So it appears. I think we've reached the end of the forest." As if exiting a cave, the two stepped out of the shade of the trees that abruptly stopped and into sunlight. It shone over a meadow, vivid green in the light.

She was content with standing back, simply admiring the view. A warm breeze billowed over them. Indeed, it was as though the plains thought that summer was arriving instead of winter.

Then the peace was pierced by a dry shriek.

"What was that for?" Miana threw him an annoyed look. Mark took the whistle out of his mouth.

"Seeing if Kazza's here is all." He waited, scanning the meadow for any signs of movement. There was none, save for the swaying of flowers, purple flowers-

"Mark!" She stabbed her finger vigorously at the direction of the flowers.

"What?" He tore his gaze from the horizon to Miana, then to her finger. "Oh!"

For none of them had noticed upon their arrival to the meadow that the ground sloped gently downward to a field. Stalks of lavender punctuated the sheet of green every few paces.

"Is this it?" Miana knelt down beside one, fingers gently curling around a stalk. A shadow fell over her. Mark knelt beside her, taking it into his hands.

"I think so. It matches Lyn's description of them. Purple flowers on a stalk, tall, but this one's not thorny. So that's good." He plucked some of the petals off and rolled them into a ball with his thumb and index finger. "And it smells very strong."

Miana perused the meadow. "There aren't many of them. But probably more than the bottle can hold," she decided.

"We don't have to get them all." Mark stood up, and pushed the tome to Miana. "Here. I don't think I need it anymore. Thank you."

"Hm? Oh, yeah." She'd forgotten that for a brief interim they were connected by the tome. Oddly, she felt less coordinated now that they were separated.

"I'll take that half of the field. You cover the other," Mark said, and set off. Miana complied without a word.

It was slow going for her. She needed both of hands to cut the lavender stalks, one to hold it still and the other to slice it. But she had one hand grasping the knife and the other always wrapped around the tome. At first she'd done just that, but after slicing a finger on the tome-holding hand due to a poor grip on the stem—it was not easy holding the flower and the book in the same hand—she'd cursed and sucked on her injury, and in frustration, plunked to the ground and held the plant in place with her foot, fear of thorns forgotten. This procedure was hardly better than the first. And after doing so, she'd have to get up, arms wrapped precariously around a knife, a weighty tome, and a glass bottle full of lavender, and move on to the next one. So it was no surprise that Miana had hardly gotten halfway through her part of the field when Mark ambled over to her, a bundle of the hateful plants in hand.

"I think we've gotten enough. This'll be our last one," Mark commented as he sat next to her to hold the plant in place for her, sparing her foot.

"Yeah," she agreed. "And we weren't supposed to stray from the forest anyway."

"We won't get lost."

"Hmph. So much for taking responsibility for your actions."

"Didn't you hear me? I said we won't get lost."

But Miana was distracted by something else. "Hey Mark," she started, abruptly changing the subject, "there's been something I wanted to ask you. How come you wrote your letters upside down? This morning when we were teaching Lyn?"

"Isn't it obvious? Or maybe you didn't notice," Mark answered. "It's because I'm left-handed. I always write things upside-down because if I wrote from left to right like right-handed people the ink would smear. See?" He pretended to write on her outstretched arm, from left to right. Miana could feel the way that the side of his hand scraped along her forearm as he "wrote", and indeed, had it been ink, the words would have been smudged.

"But if I write from right to left, upside down-" he began "writing" again, but from right to left- "then my hand isn't in the way, and the words don't get blotted."

The final cutting of lavender was in her hand. She tried to cram it in the bottle, but it had a thin neck. No more could fit.

"Here." He took the flower from her hand and inserted it in her hair.

She had hardly realized what had just happened, and her mouth dropped open when he took it out, saying, "On second thought, it doesn't match your hair very well. Your hair's too dark."

"Umm." Her mind was spinning. "Oh, I remember what I was going to say. I think. Before... Umm... Anyway..." She blushed. Stammering like an idiot, she was making things so much more awkward. "S-so, um, does being left-handed make things harder for you?"

"Sometimes," he replied evenly. As far as she could tell, he was completely unfazed and unabashed. Or maybe he was just pretending. "Many things are created for the right hand, which, of course, makes things difficult for me. In times like those, I try to use my left hand if I can, but if not, I just try to use my right hand, like everyone else."

"Oh. And... are we going to teach Lyn to write with her right hand or left?"

"Whichever hand's right for her," Mark answered with a grin.

"Haha. I get it."

"But in all seriousness, I've noticed that her dominant hand—her sword arm—is right."

"Okay. And don't get me wrong; I asked, Mark, not because I don't think you're qualified, but because, you know, for Lyn. And for my own curiosity."

"I doubt being left-handed would change anything. I'm just teaching her to read. You're right-handed; after I'm done you can teach her to write. Though I'm sure at that point she'd understand how to write. It's just stringing letters together to make words."

"Does that mean I have to teach her to spell?"

"We'll both do that together."

Miana glanced behind her again. No one was there.

"Why do you keep looking behind you? Now _I'm_ curious. And you're always so fidgety, too." And then Mark paused, having reached a hypothesis. "You're not... Being chased?"

Miana immediately went still. Her eyes locked on Mark's. "What makes you think that?"

"You always act nervous, even paranoid, always looking behind you all the time. And you were so quick to join Lyn and I." His words hung in the air, as though attached to the suddenly tense atmosphere. The lovely field suddenly wasn't so lovely anymore; the air suddenly wasn't so summer-like.

Miana's stare never wavered. "And if I were?" she said, letting her face and tone go completely blank.

Mark looked split. He kept opening his mouth as if to say something just to snap it shut again. Finally, he said to the ground, "Let's go back."

The return was wrought in silence.

o-o-o-o

Dinner was a tense, tight thing, as though the night was trying to suck out the atmosphere. They all reaped some profitable rewards, Lyn having gotten nuts and herbs ("I didn't see any animals bigger than a ground-rodent," she'd said, apologetically) and Mark and Miana having collected the lavender. They were currently being dried hanging from the ger's ceiling. Its scent, much to Lyn's dismay, permeated the air within some twenty paces of the tent.

Both Mark and Miana pretended that nothing unusual had transpired in the lavender meadow. Or rather, they tried to. Neither could quite pull it off as well as they'd wanted to.

"Mark, are you feeling alright? You look troubled."

Upon hearing this, he immediately straightened and feigned a slight smile. "I'm fine, Lyn. Just got lost in my thoughts."

Miana knew Mark was smart. In a clash against intelligence, he would obliterate her. It wouldn't take him very long to find out about-

"Um Lyn, I'm feeling very tired," Miana said quickly. "If you don't mind, I'm going to bed now." Anything to get away. She couldn't bear to be anywhere near him, all of a sudden. It was probably smarter to stay with Lyn and Mark in her sight, to stall Mark from telling Lyn about her being chased. Yet all she wanted to do was just close her eyes and pretend everything was fine and dandy.

"That would be a good idea for all of us. We'll want to wake up early to get to Bulgar."

"That sounds good Lyn, but before that I'd to go blow my whistle one last time before I go to sleep," Mark said. "I imagine Kazza must be coming back soon, for food. She can't hunt very well..." He _was_ worried for his fox, but his real motive for going out into the dark stemmed from the urge to get away from the others, especially Miana. The wise thing to do would be to tell Lyn, most definitely, but for some reason he just couldn't bear to do it. Miana could be trusted, couldn't she...? Yet if she brought dangers with her...

Lyn was left at the fire completely bewildered.

o-o-o-o

"She's still supposed to be in Sacae."

"Where could she go?"

"She could be anywhere. She must know the plains well."

"The best destination for us would be at a city."

"Yes. Bulgar and the Shrine."

"But at Bulgar, we've not seen hide nor hair of her."

"We'll try again tomorrow. I think the best course of action would be if we split up."

"Would it not be better if we stick together?"

"I think we may just need to separate. The sooner we find her, the better it will be. I'll ride to the Shrine. You remain here. At worst, I'll return in a week's time, if I don't catch sight of her there. We cannot fail our charge."

"I'm hurt you would suggest such a thing! You can count on me!"

"I know I can. But above all else, remember: Don't lose her!"


	3. Diary

A gust of wind blew back the tail of Miana's cloak, where her pack didn't hold it down. She dropped her hands to the hem of her cloak and clutched it to her body. In front of her, Lyn wrapped her cloak tightly around her torso as well.

The morning didn't have the most ideal conditions for a long trip on foot, especially for their still-drying lavender. The clouds hung gray and low, and the wind was whisking leaves high into the air. No one said a word as they hiked across the plains, but from the harried way Lyn led them ahead, looking side to side and then behind her, it was plainly obvious that Lyn was excited, as well as nervous, about departing from the lands she called home and venturing into the world beyond.

A cold prick stung her bare wrist. Her eyes flicked down. A drop of water slid down her wrist and trailed down her finger. A second droplet, this time on her head, confirmed that it was beginning to rain. She put up her hood and then Mark and Lyn noticed, and they too covered their heads.

The slight drizzle escalated quickly into an earnest downpour. They slogged on, until Mark finally spoke up. "I don't think there will be any lightning. Why don't we take refuge under those trees?" he suggested, looking towards a grove. Soaked, Lyn and Miana nodded and made their way for the trees.

The shelter of the trees wasn't that much of an improvement, even if they were drier. It was gloomily dark, and oftentimes a fat raindrop would slide off a leaf onto an unsuspecting person's head. Lyn opened her pack and brought out an uninspiring lunch of berries and mushrooms.

After they all finished eating (in a remarkably quick time) Miana said, "What shall we do now? Wait out the rain, or travel through it?"

"It probably will stop raining by nightfall," Lyn said, "these storms aren't the type to last very long."

"_By_ nightfall? I'd rather not camp here the whole day and night."

"Well, look there." Lyn pointed a finger at a lighter patch of clouds. "It's thinning over there. So the rain might end earlier."

"I hope so," said Mark, "I think the best course of action would be to wait here until the rain stops, and if it doesn't in about a couple more hours, we head back to the ger,"

"It's about a full day's trip, from here to Bulgar," said Lyn, "and I'd prefer not to arrive at night and sleep at an inn. We can't afford it anyways."

"So either way we head back and try again tomorrow?"

"Yeah." Lyn heaved a sigh. "I'm sorry for making us travel all the way here for nothing."

"Then by that logic it's our fault for following you here."

"No, it's not like that—"

"Nobody's blaming each other. This wasn't a mistake. So there's nothing to apologize for," Miana interjected. "Besides, I have an idea. We might as well use this time to work on your writing, Lyn."

"Oh, yes, I'd almost forgotten about that." Lyn brightened up considerably.

The three knelt in the mud, by the edge of the trees where soft light, filtered by the clouds, shone upon the alphabet. Lyn found she preferred seeing the letters in the wet earth, where each line was deeper and each detail more prominent.

"What is this letter, Lyn?"

Lyn eyes darted to the stick, hovering above a letter in the middle, which was filling up with rainwater. "L," she said.

"Good. That was fast," Mark said, a small smile upon his lips. "And this?"

Lyn studied it for an instant then shot, "I."

The smile dropped immediately. Mark looked up at Lyn in mild puzzlement before exchanging a glance at Miana. She too looked surprised.

_What? Was I wrong?_ Lyn cringed. She was shocked to see such negative responses to her mistake. A small part of her was somewhat indignant (_So what if I made a mistake? I'm still learning._) but the rest of her mind resolved to improve on learning. Even worse was when Miana leaned into Mark's ear to whisper something.

"...does seem like the way to spell it," said Mark, to Miana. She muttered something else that Lyn failed to catch due to a sudden wind. What was Miana saying that she had to hide it from her?

"I know, I was going to," said Mark. Then to Lyn: "You can't spell, can you?"

"No. I can't read," she reminded them.

"Well—" Miana piped. She looked as though she would have continued speaking but then waved at Mark to move on with the lesson.

Lyn zoned in on the next letter. Perhaps it was because their odd one-sided conversation was still on her mind, or she was just flustered at whatever had just transpired, but whatever the reason it took her much longer than the previous two times to come up with the letter, "P".

"Okay." Mark showed no reaction this time. Lyn didn't know whether to be worried or not. "This?"

"N".

This time Mark actually put the stick down. "What? Was I right?" Lyn asked.

"Yeah, you were," Miana assured her, yet her perplexed visage did nothing to comfort Lyn. "But Lyn... Hm." Now she seemed to be speaking more to herself than the plainswoman. "Either she's been studying really hard, or..."

"I just some of them remember them more easily because..." Lyn's face froze. Then her mouth dropped open. "I think I've seen them before—"

As she was saying this letters swam before her eyes, but they weren't mud-brown ones gouged in earth. They were golden...

"Yes! Yes! I _have_ seen them before!" Lyn sprang up so fast it was like a blur. The other two stared wide-eyed at Lyn.

Mark recovered quickly. "Where?"

"Follow me! Back to the ger!" Lyn was already sprinting out of the woods.

She was vaguely aware of rain falling sideways right onto her face, of wind whistling behind her, of wet grass flattening underfoot. _I'm sorry, Mother Earth_, she apologized in her head, but nothing at all was going to slow her down.

That is, until she slipped. She gasped as she fell; her elbow bent harshly, pain flaring from taking the blow, but it resided as she pushed herself back up and went on at a healthy run. Rain intermixed with sweat as she ran and ran, and a journey that had taken a whole morning had this time only taken about half an hour.

The ger she had left up was taking the rain well enough; she threw the front flap aside and stepped in.

The rain beat on the cloth roof above her, yet the inside was dry—gers were made to combat weather. Out of breath and not sure where to proceed, she wrung out the water from her hair and promptly began tearing the place apart.

Everything they had deemed extraneous, unnecessary, or unusable had been left in the ger. She tossed them all aside. Anything black caught her eye, but the shadows were not what she was seeking. She prowled around the corners—or rather, the sides of the tent, as gers were round tents—but to no avail. She was growing frustrated...

When Mark and Miana burst in, completely winded and hunched over from effort, Lyn was sitting on the floor, quite serenely, an open book in hand. She was looking at its contents.

"Wha's... That?" Miana wheezed.

"Look." Lyn's tone was one that her voice never took, misty and calm, almost eerily so. It was as though she was sleep-talking. No, her voice was filled with wonder, Miana decided.

She lay the book flat on the ground. On its aging pages, long lines of some sort crossed, like a web. Mark took it into his hands, forcing the other two to move and look from behind his shoulders.

"It's a family tree," Mark breathed. "A large complex one. And—"

At the bottom, all by its lonesome, was one name: Lyndis.

Nobody said anything for several minutes. Then Lyn's finger, shaking slightly and slow to touch the page, as though it was hot, was placed on a carefully scribed name two generations above hers.

"Aren't these the same?" She pointed at it, then her own name. "L, Y, N, D, I, S," she recited, "L-Y-N-D-I-S."

"And to think, all this time, I thought your name would be spelled, 'L, I, N', because it seems Sacaen. But..." Miana trailed off.

"What? Isn't it Sacaen?"

"...According to this book," Mark began, with trepidation. Then he took a breath. "You are Lyndis, daughter of Hassar and Madelyn and heiress of Caelin."

Once again, a silence pervaded the air, louder than before.

"You're a Lady," Miana said at last, almost whispered, face set in awe.

But that wasn't what Lyn was concerned about. "Caelin?" she sputtered. "The country? That's impossible, I was born and raised on the plains my whole life. I don't know how..."

"Has your mother ever told you her lineage?" Mark asked gently.

"...No. The only thing they ever told me was that I was named after my grandmother." Lyn looked at the name with new meaning. "Although... In the tribe, I was Lyn. But when it was just my parents and me, I was Lyndis." Her eyes rested on her parents' names. It were written by her mother's hand, she was sure, and she noticed it was not as neat as her mother's predecessors' handwriting. But she found the flaws all the more charming, rather than detracting.

"I am Sacaen, and nothing will ever change that," she proclaimed, more to convince herself than anything else.

"That's right," Miana agreed, "but you're also part Caelin, Lady Lyndis." Mark kicked her in the shin for that.

"Don't call me that," Lyn pleaded. "Call me what you've always called me: Lyn."

"It's improper in Lycian culture for a commoner to call a noble by a nickname," Miana said. Mark threw her a glare but she plowed on, "But seeing as we're not there, I'll respect your wishes."

"Anyway," Mark cleared his throat, "I hope you don't mind. I've been skimming through the pages. This diary has been, by the looks of it, been presented only to the heiresses, for centuries. Most of its writers have only written a couple entries each—ascension ceremonies, weddings, and the like—except for your mother. She has filled up quite a large fraction of the journal. From here—" He indicated a page—"To here." He flipped though scores of pages until he reached a short entry, and empty page. The pages she had written on numbered nearly a hundred, far more than all the other entries combined and taking up more than half the journal.

"Your mother was quite the avid writer, if I do say so myself," Miana remarked.

Now Lyn had all the more reason to learn how to write. In addition to writing a history of Sacae (or rather, _her_ history of Sacae) she could write her own entries in the family book, next to her mother's, not to mention read through her family's past. Vaguely, her mind only registered just now that it didn't hurt to think about her parents. Maybe because her mother's own words were recorded on those pages.

"Do you want me to read the first entry?" Mark asked.

"Yes, my mother's first entry," Lyn replied eagerly.

He hopped on it. "Fire 20, Year 954." Mark paused to look back at the tree. "Your mother was born in Fire 20, Year 944, so she was exactly ten years old. But I digress—

'This is my first journal entry. Tutor Osbaldo told me about its history, and warned me, "This is a precious heirloom, so don't you ruin it! And don't write in it unless it's a special day, like your wedding day in the future." He makes it sounds like I always cause trouble. Grown-ups can be so annoying! And I think I will write in it more anyway. They can't control me!

He says that I must work on my penmanship. I then said that I was a girl, so I said, "Shouldn't it be 'penwomanship?'" Then he told me not to give him any cheek and had me work on writing all morning. How dull!

'Mother and Father held a grand feast for me and invited the other marquesses to celebrate my Affinity Day. It was yummy, roast duck, meat pies, tasty soup, and bread with my favorite goat's cheese. But I felt a little lonely, even though the banquet hall was filled with guests and their children. I wish I had brothers and sisters, but I don't dare tell this to Mother and Father. Mother always looks sad whenever I say so and Father gets mad. When I grow up I want to marry a handsome man and have lots of children.'"

Lyn mulled over the words she'd just heard. Yes, a few things her mother'd written did seem childish—she _was_ only ten—but all the same she treasured them. Those were her mother's thoughts, so many years ago.

"So, do you want to hear the next one?" Mark said.

"No, thank you Mark." Deep inside, selfishly Lyn felt as though these words were for her only, a private peek into her mother's history. And she wanted to feel the thrill of reading it by herself—once she knew how. "It's just that..."

"We understand," Miana said.

"So, now what?" said Mark.

Her hot energy ebbing away, Lyn only now registered how cold she was. All of her clothes were sopping wet and dripping onto the floor as were her companions', as though they had just jumped into a lake. "Let's dry off and get warm."

o-o-o

Even by firelight it was beginning to be too dark to push on with learning letters.

The fire in her eyes rivaled that with the passion she had for improving her sword form. All afternoon Lyn pressed on, pleading for Mark to teach her more (though she didn't beg long; he obliged at once). Even better was that the rain ceased, the clouds having been blown away, and though moisture and the scent of wet flora permeated the air, sunlight struck the land once more. Miana didn't join them, complaining that Amita was cutting in her concentration, and stayed in the ger. It roused Lyn's guilt again that they weren't able to make it to Bulgar to buy Pure Water, but Mark assured that neither of them blamed her and that they would go tomorrow, so she put it out of her mind.

The time for pointing and muttering had long since passed; now she was as quick to spout any letter as she was that noon with "L", "I", and "N".

"Congratulations," Mark said, almost drily, as Lyn recited the alphabet backwards, grinning. "I suppose you're ready for super-letters."

"What's that?"

"They're two letters that, when linked together, make a different sound. There are countless super-letters but the main ones are—" and he wrote them down.

"Cah-huh," Lyn read. "Suh-huh. Tah-huh. Puh-huh."

Mark laughed. "This here makes a ch- sound, as in 'cheese'."

"Chuh?"

"Yes. 'S' and 'H' make sh-, as in 'shoe' or 'shh'. 'T' and 'H' make th-, like in 'the' or 'thing'. And 'P' and 'H' make the same sound as 'F', 'fuh'. You'll rarely see words with 'PH' in it though. All I can think of is 'phantom' and 'phenomenon', and they aren't common words."

"Are they in 'alphabet'?" Lyn asked.

Mark opened his mouth, paused, and then said, impressed, "Yeah. How did you know?"

"It was just a guess." Nevertheless Lyn grin was, somehow, broadening. Anymore, and her smile will reach her ears, Mark thought.

But she wasn't the only one smiling. Mark was glad that he could help out another, help plant that smile on her face.

They practiced naming letters some more, and before they knew it, the sun was setting and Miana came out, asking about dinner. They all helped prepare soup (though Miana almost cut her hand open when cutting herbs; Lyn took over the task from that point on and had her help Mark haul water and kindling).

They had all eaten their fill, and now Mark and Lyn were lying on the ground, the letters they'd practiced scratched all around in the dirt.

"You're doing very well. Tomorrow you can begin writing them yourself," said Mark. Lyn sat up, her face positively lit up.

"Really?"

"If we have time," Mark added. "We'll even buy some paper tomorrow, but you'll be practicing in the dirt for some time; paper is expensive and I'd rather not waste any."

"Alright." Lyn found that she appreciated his frank manner. Miana could be frank also, but Lyn was still irked from when she'd insisted on calling her "Lady Lyndis". But Mark still treated her the same, as if nothing had transpired this afternoon.

"It's getting chilly. Let's go inside and get some sleep."

"Alright," she said again. But even when she closed her eyes, all she saw were letters, both Mark's rigid straight-lined letters and the diary's loopy elegant writing.

"Goodbye," Lyn said to the ger.

It had been her home her whole life, or at least her dwelling space, seeing as Sacaen nomads didn't live in one definitive place. Yesterday she had said goodbye to it too, only to return for the diary. She wondered—and half-hoped—this would be her final time seeing it for a while.

They set off. They retraced their footsteps from yesterday, literally; Lyn was somewhat embarrassed to see the trampled grass that marked her steps from the frantic dash yesterday, though she also took it as a sign that Mother Earth wanted the plains to remember the day Lyn realized her heritage.

When they passed by the woods they took shelter in yesterday, Lyn suggested they stop for lunch.

"It's been a while since we had meat. Though I'm simply commenting, not complaining," said Miana.

"We can't have meat everyday, we're not nobles." As soon as he said it he wished he could take it back, knowing what Miana was going to say—

"Except for Lyn." When Lyn looked at her with an exasperated expression she said, "It's a fact. Take it however you see fit."

"So let's review what we need," Mark changed the topic, "traveling food, Pure Water, a map, and paper. Anything else?"

They shrugged. "Alright. If you're all rested then let's go."

They got up. Except for Miana, who is still sitting, mouth slightly agape, eyes unblinking. "What are you doing? Let's go," said an unnerved Mark.

She held still for just another second, then her head whirled to Mark. "Mark," she said getting up, "what did your fox look like?"

"Kazza?" What does this have to do with anything? "Small, gray-furred—"

"I know where she is."

He gasped. "Where?"

At this she could not look him in the eye. Then, slowly: "I guess I understand that you would still want to find her, for her body..."

Mark's mind was silent. Then he heard a click in his head.

"She's dead?"

"Roasted by Fire."

Silence again. Then—

"_What_?"

"I thought she was a threat! She was running toward me! So I—it was just... self-defense," she finished lamely. She was trying to look composed as always, but it was obvious she was quivering under his furious glare.

"A _threat_?" He growled. "And did you not take the time to notice that she was not keeping away from humans like a wild animal would do, or realize that she does not run aggressively? Did you not notice that she was trained, and obviously _not wild_?"

"S-sorry!" she said as loud as she dared, but he was on a roll.

"But of course, how could I expect someone as stupid as you to know all this, someone as paranoid as you. Oh yes, you're being hounded so of course, it's alright. Make somebody else suffer so you can get away."

By this point, Lyn was lost and spoke up, but Miana beat her to it. Her eyes flashed to his.

"Ah! I knew it! Jumping to conclusions! I only said that the day before, only made it look like someone was after me because I wanted to test you. I wanted to see if you would still take me in even if there was a threat after me—which there _isn't_—and you did at first. I thought you had a true heart, especially since your soul is so bright. But it turns out that oh, your stupid fox is dead, and suddenly I don't matter as much as an _animal_! And you made a mistake: I did not kill it, it was Amita that burned it."

Mark looked as though he wanted very badly to throttle her. But Lyn now cried, "_What_ is going on?"

Both were speaking at once. "She killed Kazza—!" "He thinks that since I was just testing him—" "—and she is trying to claim innocence—" "now he doesn't trust us any—"

"One person at a time!" Lyn yelled. "Mark."

Miana hissed as Mark said, "As I see it—she is trying to avoid taking responsibility for the crime she has committed—"

"What—!"

"I said Mark!" Lyn barked at Miana. "We'll hear your side next, Miana. Go on, Mark."

"Thank you Lyn—so as I was saying, she brutally killed Kazza—my only companion–and failed to tell me until now. I think she thinks that just because she is being chased by some other unknown threat that it is alright for her to just do as she likes, to sacrifice some else."

"Start from the beginning. What was that about her being chased...?"

"Oh, you weren't there. Back when we were picking the lavender, she kept looking behind her and acting nervously and suspiciously, and when I asked her if she was being chased, she avoided the question. So I assumed she was."

"Can I start now?" Miana asked impatiently.

"Anything else you want to add, Mark?"

"Not yet."

"Alright, Miana, start."

"As I said, I tried to make it sound like I was being chased to see if you would still care for me, take me in, right? And I am not actually being chased by anybody. Who would follow me here? And all I saw was an animal running at me so instinctively Amita took control and she was just defending us. Like I said, Mark assumes way too much—"

"That's an assumption too," Mark muttered.

"—and thought that I killed it—"

"Her," Lyn corrected quietly.

"Okay, _her_, and he thought that I was bringing danger down upon you two."

"I said no such thing," Mark spat.

"I never said that I was avoiding the responsibility. I didn't tell you earlier because I didn't realize earlier. And listen well: I do not want to sacrifice anyone's happiness."

Both stood glaring each other down. To Lyn, it was somewhat embarrassing to see two usually-mature people squabbling like little children while she was in the middle, like a mother figure having to tell her little children to sort things out and quit arguing. She cringed at the comparison. _More like... An older sister who have to keep her younger siblings from fighting_, she decided (even though she knew Mark was the oldest of the three). For the two were already close to her, despite only knowing them for a handful of days. "Listen, both of you. I will not take a side, though see now from both standpoints. But we're not going anywhere until you two settle this."

"Don't be stupid, Lyn," said Mark, "we can't afford to waste anymore time. I'll cooperate with her. For now."

"And I as well. For now."

"If that's the best I can get, fine," was all Lyn said.

* * *

_This was not how I imagined it to be._ Lyn had imagined bringing them to Bulgar, where they would all be ogling over the myriad stands of eye-catching merchandise. Perhaps Mark would read her the handful of signs that bore letters she could now slowly comprehend while Miana would spout a random historical fact about the famed marketplace.

She was withholding her part of the vision. She was certainly enjoying herself, stopping at various stands to gaze upon round fruit brighter than a cardinal's wing, intricately woven cloths and rugs perfect for the floor of a ger, delicate ivory knifes that were not for cutting, but for displaying (_What was the use for that?_ Lyn wondered), and once, a stand that was stacked high with books. She was intimidated by the amount of words that would be contained in each book, the astronomical prices, and the sour-faced merchant looming over the books like a vulture, so she dared not venture too close to it.

_I hope they will be done soon._ Lyn, saying that she didn't need anything but still wanted to help, peddled away the deerskin and lavender and then handed the money over to Mark and Miana, marveling at the weight and designs of the coins. Mark offered—that is, demanded—to be the one who would acquire all their necessities for traveling. Miana understood the unspoken _I don't trust you, you're irresponsible_ (and Lyn did too, with a disapproving look at Mark) and she set off to get her Pure Water at the first chance.

Now Lyn was wandering from stand to stand, observing the goods as well as idly observing the people. How loud the merchants were! Each announcing the things they had to offer, advertising their low, low prices, and blandishing passersby, their words were lost in the hot, droning air.

The customers were intriguing as well. She saw people wearing shockingly little—only a thin top and shorts—considering the season as well as others bundled up as though expecting a snowstorm to blizzard through the marketplace. She saw countless insignias embroidered onto capes and cloaks and clothes. They were also imprinted onto jewelry, armor, and weapons. If Mark or Miana was with her she was sure they would be able to tell which symbol belonged to which house, which emblem signified which country.

She did not feel so out of place anymore. She was a part of the diversity in Bulgar, her attire and accent not so different from everyone else's odd garb and speech. She was impressed by the amount of people with blades slung at their sides, like her. Some, she could tell immediately, were just like her, out to train and improve herself. Others (the ones who didn't seem to know which end to hold) were just carrying around a weapon to lessen the chances of being attacked. And yet more, the people who carried strange weapons and axes, who might be out to do evil, to destroy somebody else's life at night—

_Don't think about it_, she commanded herself. Today was just too pleasant a day (excepting Mark and Miana's episode) to brood upon bad memories. So she successfully put it out of her mind.

Sudden neighing jolted Lyn. She whirled about. In the center of the marketplace was a thrashing horse, its rider holding onto the reins, trying not to be bucked off. "I'm s-sorry, milady!" he shouted to a woman who screamed; she has nearly been trampled upon by the stallions hooves. It was making quite a commotion, as people were beginning to gather about to see what was happening, though of course giving the flailing horse a wide berth. "Some knight," one onlooker muttered while another said, loudly, "Somebody get him an' his rabid horse outta here!"

Lyn had seen horses back in Sacae that had acted like this before. If she was right, the remedy was salt...

She broke through the crowd to reach him. Despite his circumstance, the rider was... grinning at her? He called, "G-good afternoon, good lady!" He tried to do a little bow too but nearly fell off trying. "Whoa! _Whoa_! Calm d-down!"

"Use salt!" Lyn shouted to him; she then scrambled back to evade the hooves.

"What, milady? Ouch!" he exclaimed, having bit his tongue. "F-feed her salt?" The stallion neighed again, throwing its head side it side, as if shaking off something.

"No! Scratch some salt on its ears!"

"What? Well, if you say so, milady, since you said so kindly—"

"Just hurry!"

"Alright, alright!" Struggling to reach into the pack strapped onto the horse's flank, the knight brought out a fistful of coarse salt grains and rubbed them on the horse's ear, as if exfoliating them.

The horse stilled immediately. The knight hurriedly rubbed some salt on the other ear and the horse was placated.

"Thank you, milady, for I never could have done this without your gentle aid and caring heart!" He beamed at her.

"Right." She took one step back, but this time not to avoid the horse. "Are you harmed?"

"Never! How could I bear to wrinkle your perfect brow with worry? Though of course, I would feel better if a dazzling angel like you would grace me with the healing power of love."

"Didn't you just say you were fine...?" Lyn trailed off. "I think I see a woman, a medic, coming this direction. I'm sure she can keep you company." He looked hopefully in the direction she was pointing at, but his face visibly fell as his eyes fell upon an old, hunched woman mumbling something garbled and pulling out a vulnerary with gnarled hands.

"Farewell." Lyn disappeared back in the crowd, which was dispersing now that the problem was settled, though she didn't miss more than a couple of admiring glances. She looked away, blushing a little whenever she saw such a visage.

"Impressive."

She whirled around again. It was Mark, laden with a sack of dried meat and hard biscuits, a map in one hand, and in the other hand, to her delight, sheets of blank paper, just waiting to be written on.

"Oh, Mark, you're back." She smiled.

"Yeah. I came just in time to see you almost get run over by the horse." He shook his head. "I almost ran into the fray myself when that happened. Have you seen...?"

"No. But I imagine she must have been drawn in by the commotion too."

"She'll turn up, I'm sure. So, how did you know what to do? You've made me curious."

"In Sacae sometime our horses act up like that. It's because there are these ticks that burrow in the horses' ears. Here—" Lyn bravely scooped up a dead specimen from the ground to show to Mark. "See?"

He was not disgusted, but even more intrigued. In her hand laid a small bug, dirt brown with a tiny body and spindly legs. It had—

"Seven legs? Or just a long tail?"

"I don't think anyone knows." Lyn tilted her head to look at the parasite. "The seventh leg is located exactly where you would see a tail, but it's the same length as the other legs and it _is_ off to the side. It could be six-legged with a long tail, or seven-legged. We of Sacae just call them seven-leggers."

"Interesting. I did not know of these things till today."

"What is it you're looking at?" a third voice spoke up.

"Hello Miana." Lyn greeted her with a smile too. Mark stiffened up at once. "A seven-legger. Take a look."

Miana did so, though her face screwed up in disgust as if Lyn had just showed her animal feces. "Ew. So this was what was troubling the knight's horse?"

"Yes. You were there?"

"Yes. You were rather noticeable, jumping into the heat of things with that fool knight. Say Lyn," she peered closer, her curiosity was battling her initial disgust, "I don't think I agree with you about it being a seventh leg. I think it's a tail. See how it's jutting out sideways?"

"It's a leg," piped Mark.

"Tail."

"No more fighting!" Lyn interrupted before things could heat up. "Now, if everyone has what they need, we can depart."

"Do you have a specific destination in mind?" asked Mark.

"Well..."

"Take your time. You can decide once we reach the city gates."

Lyn used the time to ponder that. One the one hand, her first reason for leaving Sacae was to wander around, polishing her sword skills as she went. So she would wander about... and what? Challenge people on the roadside? If she were to perfect her sword form, she'd have to seek out a teacher, a master to train her. But instead, whenever she thought about improving her sword form, her mind always jumped to the mountains. Why always the mountains?

It was time to be true to herself. Why the mountains? The mountains, a cold, foreboding, vicious place, home to savage men whose characteristics were that of the mountains as well. The mountains, where the Taliver bandits swarmed from to pillage and burn a Sacae tribe, destroying countless lives without remorse. Her dead parents, her _tribe_ was calling her to avenge their brutal deaths...

She almost gave into that idea—her mouth was open to speak—but another thought screamed for her attention. She relented for just a moment.

Ever since she found out about her Caelin heritage, she'd wanted to visit the place. See the place where her mother was raised up, speak to the people—

Yet somehow, the thought wasn't very appetizing at all. She was also afraid of Caelin. She didn't know anything about Caelin, didn't know about the customs, culture, or lifestyle. What if she had to change to fit in? Would she even be welcome? What if people recognized her as the next heir? What if, like Miana, they called her fancy titles and expected her to do miracles for them? She didn't know what to do and she was slated to be ruler of a city she'd never even seen?

Hunting down bandits suddenly seemed very palatable. But even as she thought this, a heavy feeling like a stone in her stomach weighed her down. If she did that, she was escaping her responsibility of Caelin. But if she went there, then she was escaping the responsibility of avenging her tribe.

"Lyn?"

She jumped. "Yeah?"

"Um, sorry to startle you," said Mark, "but have you decided where we're going?"

They had reached the gate. Out of Bulgar, a wide road stretched out, snaking through the Sacaen grass to the horizon. Travelers walked down it, growing smaller with each step, and carriages' wheels rumbled on the dirt. Lyn stopped, indecisive.

"Well..." She did not know! Both of the were looking at her expectantly, waiting. "Um..." She fidgeted. "I don't know yet," she said at last, and moved out of the way of a peddler, riding his horse. She gave them her thinking, and asked for their advice.

"I'm not versed in Sacaen culture, but if it's that important, respecting the dead takes priority," said Miana immediately.

"Ironic, coming from you," Mark murmured.

"Did you say something, Mark?"

"I said," he cleared his throat, "that it's really up to you to pick. I will go where you go."

"I know," Lyn said, "but I'd like to hear your thoughts."

"Then I shall do my thinking aloud. On the one hand, dispatching the bandits would avenge your tribe while helping to save other peoples' lives. But on the other, don't you think you owe it to your relatives to see them just once?"

"What?"

"Think about it. You must still have living relations, watching over Caelin now even as we speak."

Lyn had not thought of this at all; it hit her hard, as if she'd fallen and had the wind knocked out of her. Now it seemed the question was: Go to the living or the dead? Take up the burden of the past or future?

"I still don't know what to do." She dropped her hands in a gesture of frustration and defeat.

"If you really cannot decide, let a coin decide for you." Miana fished out a coin.

"Hold," said Mark, looking at the direction of the closing market. "Someone approaches."

A rider urged his horse onward. As he neared, it was apparent he was riding to them, and not the gate.

It was the knight Lyn had aided earlier. And as he approached, he shouted a name she didn't give him, a name that had her body stiffen in surprise: Lyndis.


End file.
